


When You Are Done

by vaguelybritishme



Series: When You Are Done [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelybritishme/pseuds/vaguelybritishme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Free Will have succeeded in closing the gates of hell. Crowley is trapped, Naomi is dead leaving heaven in relative disarray with no clear leader, and Dean is missing. Sam waits impatiently for three days as Cas goes looking for his brother, but when he returns, Sam might not like what he has to say. Written during the S8 winter hiatus. First in a series of fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Are Done

The scene was familiar: a dank and dreary motel room, furnished with dubiously stained carpeting and quasi-cheerful wallpaper. Sam had spent a good third of his life sleeping away on the creaking mattresses of these sordid temporary homes. But this night, he sat hunched over at the edge of his bed, staring at the empty one beside him, his face in his hands. It had been three days since he had seen his brother. Three days since Castiel set out to find him. Three days that Sam stared at the bed he feared would never be occupied again.

They should be celebrating. The gates of hell were closed; closed for good. Crowley was trapped. Naomi was dead and Cas was released from her manipulation. Team Free Will triumphed again. But Sam could see no victory without his brother. Gazing through the cracks between his fingers he wondered desperately—just what had happened that night? The chaos of demons and humans and angels and vampire (Benny being an ally Sam reluctantly accepted)…when it was all over, when the deed was done, Dean was nowhere to be found.

The troops dispersed, most returning to the places they respectively called home. Sam let Benny go with a handshake and a warning—stay clean and they would never again meet as enemies—as the vampire left for Louisiana in hopes of reuniting with Elizabeth. It seemed that Dean had been right about him—despite Sam’s fears, Benny had remained loyal to the Winchesters even after all of the distrust they had to fight their way through. To Sam, any man who felt so strongly about protecting family above all else was a man set straight about his priorities—even if he was a vampire. For his part, Benny expressed his hope that Dean would be found and that they would meet again—but the tone in his voice carried no hope whatsoever.

They all had kind things to say—the Trans, Garth, Samandriel, everyone—but they couldn’t even convince themselves that Dean might be alive and well. Probably, he was killed. Possibly he was captured—and might that be worse? Sam imagined his brother in the clutches of soulless black-eyed demons dragging him into hell again as a pair of gnarled black gates closed behind them with Dean trapped, trapped, trapped forever in an eternity of nightmares.

It would be nothing they’d never seen before.

But there would be no way out. Not this time.

Sam shook his head furiously at the thought and came to a decision. He could sit there, waiting uselessly around no more. He folded his hands in prayer and pressed them to his forehead. “Cas…Cas it’s me, come on man, it’s been three days…you’ve found him or you haven’t, please, just…tell me how it is. I need to know.” He looked up, expecting to see the holy tax accountant appear before him, but saw only Dean’s empty bed. 

He buried his face in his hands, thinking to himself that Cas never was very good at answering his prayers. If it were Dean praying to him…well, they wouldn’t be in this mess, would they?

Just as he began to think he wouldn’t show, he heard from behind him the familiar grunt of Castiel mumbling, “Hello, Sam.”

He nearly leaped up off the bed at that sound. He whipped around to see him standing stiffly there, and he noted immediately that nothing about the angel’s appearance was noteworthy at all. His signature attire—old trenchcoat and blue tie, same as ever—bore no marks or tears; his skin showed no signs of injury, and thus no indication of violent struggle, though with Cas that didn’t mean anything as long as his self-healing mojo was intact; and in his face Sam saw the same unreadable expression of hard stoicism which he felt Cas carried with him always. Dean could see through the subtleties of Cas’s countenance which betrayed the inner workings of his mind, but to Sam he would always be something a mystery. And so, looking at him then, Sam couldn’t entirely guess whether Cas brought good, bad, or even—God forbid—inconclusive news.

Still struck slightly dumb by his appearance, all Sam could think of immediately to say was, “Cas! You’re here!”

“Astute observation,” Cas agreed, not unkindly.

“Sorry, man, it’s just…you know how long you’ve been gone, don’t you? It’s kinda hard to keep my head on straight with you out there…I mean, no word for three days?”

“I apologize, Sam. I assure you that I did the best I could. I didn’t want to concern you if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

“So, what, are you sure now?”

Cas shifted his gaze downward in a dejected state. “I am.”

It was clear, then, that the nature of Cas’s news was not what Sam wanted to hear, but he couldn’t take insinuation. He had to hear it. “ _And_?” he pleaded, taking small steps around the bed that separated them, inching ever closer to Cas in anticipation.

“It was…as we suspected, I’m afraid.”

Sam’s vision blurred; Cas was a fuzzy, tan and blue pillar against a plane of yellowed wall, and Sam might as well have been nothing floating there in the hazy motel room. But he found his vocal chords, he had to—the words had to be said; it had to be real. “He’s really dead.”

“Yes,” said the pillar of blur. Sam felt the blur place a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly the blur was Cas again. “Your brother…was killed—” and here another set of words that had to be said—for of course, Dean did not die. Dying is soft, and vague, and inevitable, but that wasn’t what happened to Dean. Dean was killed. Killing is sudden and sharp and disruptive and useless, and  _that’s_  what happened; an evil force took Dean viciously away, but  _how_ viciously, Sam was yet to imagine.

“He was killed by a truly sadistic pair of demons. They—” Cas began hesitantly, as if the words might be as painful as the actions they described, “—they tore apart his body, piece by piece. I’m sorry to say that he was very conscious for the larger part of his dismemberment. I suspect a personal grudge may have had a hand in motivating the severity of the attacks. What remained of Dean when they were through with him was so fractured and…well. It explains why there was no recognizable body left behind.”

Sam staggered backwards and fell sitting onto the bed again. They’d both died before; they’d both been exposed to the furies of hell and felt the healing of heaven. Had Dean suffered worse atrocities than being ripped apart by revenge-seeking demons? Maybe. Had Sam? He didn’t know himself well enough to decide.

“Where were we, Cas? When—how did we not know?”

“We  _were_  there, at first. You must remember. He told us to go ahead. He told us he would hold them off. He insisted, Sam. But this time he couldn’t do it. There were too many. Sure, he took several out before the last two overcame him, but he’s only a man. He isn’t all-powerful.”

“No,” Sam agreed as his nostrils began to flare and he stood to glare down at Castiel. “But  _you_  pretty damn near are. Why didn’t you stay with him, why didn’t you just smite them all like you usually do? He could still be alive if you hadn’t—”

“I understand your anger, Sam, I truly do,” Cas allowed, meeting Sam’s eyes, not intimidated yet. “But you know as well as I that Crowley was the imperative target and that we had precious little time to spend fighting off each and every demon that crossed our path. The gates of hell were  _rife_  with bloodthirsty demons that night. All might have been lost if you and I hadn’t made absolute haste. You may remember that due to these actions, we won this war.”

“You may remember that my  _brother_  is dead, asshole! And what about you? How is this  _okay_  to you? Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be in love with him or something?” Sam spat, still glaring spitefully at Cas.

For a moment he returned the glare unflinchingly, but unable to stand Sam’s judgement, he shut his eyes and sighed at the accusation, stepping back from their toe-to-toe stand off and leaning back against the wall, arms folded.

“I suppose you could call it that,” he admitted quietly, opening his eyes again to stare hard at Sam. 

“You mean…” Sam began in disbelief, forgetting, for a moment, his anger. Those years of stupid jokes, sarcastic suggestions, all of the teasing about Dean and Cas’ relationship…and it was real for Cas, the whole time. Sam never considered the possibility, not really. Maybe he should have; maybe it was entirely obvious, all those years, and he never saw it. Embarrassed, ashamed of his neglect, Sam contritely continued, “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

But perhaps Cas had been silent too long. Perhaps the weight of Dean’s death did fall upon him with more guilt than he could bear. He sneered at Sam’s belated attempts at apology and, fed up with it all, growled, “Oh,  _don’t_  bother. I’ve grown accustomed to having my emotions trivialized and mocked and often all but ignored by the Winchesters. Inconceivable! Your wish-granting guardian angel has feelings of his own! What an idea. So yes, because you ask so  _politely_ …yes, I love your brother,” he grumbled finally, “I never thought…I never meant for it to happen but I’m quite certain it did and…here I was thinking myself so obvious.” 

His insensibility melted away as he bore the fatigued fury of Cas’s words—of course Sam wasn’t Dean’s sole mourner. And it didn’t matter how deep Castiel’s feelings ran for Dean, they were brothers, the three of them, and Sam’s words had been thoughtless. And yet, it did matter. Sam knew how it felt to lose someone you were in love with. “I didn’t realize,” was all that Sam could offer him now. 

Cas smiled without joy at Sam’s ignorance. “Neither did he. I made peace with that long ago…and since you asked, no, I’m not ‘okay’ with what’s happened to him. That Dean suffered such a horrific death and that he has suffered so many like it brings me more pain than you seem to think. No matter how many times I bring him back, how many of his wounds I heal, he’ll always carry those memories with him.”

Sam turned suddenly back to Cas, unable to look him in the eye during much of his speech, and said, “But wait. Cas. How did you find all this out? What happened to Dean after they—after they killed him?”

Cas hesitated before answering. Of course, this is what he was really here for: not self-pitying guilt trips with Sam, not a shouting match. He was here about Dean, and even more importantly, he was here for Sam, whose forthcoming pain would far outdo his own.

“Knowing that Naomi was dead, I was able to return safely to heaven to assess the damage, and once there, I found Dean. That’s how I know what happened to him; he told me himself.”

Given the angel’s grave manor throughout the evening, he almost knew before he presented the idea that somehow, it wouldn’t work. But why wouldn’t it? He couldn’t help but perk up slightly at the news. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? I mean…he’s in heaven? If that’s true then—like you said, you’ve brought him back—you’ve brought me back, too—a million times, what’s stopping you from doing it now?”

He said the words before he remembered better, and immediately regretted them. He expected to get the words “wish-granting guardian angel” thrown back at him, but instead Cas was silent. He turned away and walked over to the window, apparently unfazed by Sam’s expectations. And why wouldn’t Cas want Dean alive—he did just admit to being in love with him, after all. But something was wrong. The whole air of finality Cas about him…

“You can do it, can’t you? Is it…is there not enough of his body left on Earth to put him back into? Is he stuck up there or something? Is there a limit to the number of resurrections you’re allowed before you actually have to be dead for real?” he asked, reaching desperately for the explanation Cas wasn’t providing.

But Cas just stared out the window.

“Or are you just…out of juice? I know you’ve been exerting yourself a lot lately, did you just spend your mojo? Cause I mean, if you need to rest for a while and then you could do it—”

“No, Sam. There is no physical impediment preventing me from bringing Dean back. My recent efforts haven’t reduced my strength in the least—in fact I find my abilities have merely been sharpened by the practice. I could resurrect your brother a hundred times over without batting an eye.”

“Great!” Sam said, surprised. “Then…why isn’t he here?”

In the window’s reflection Sam could see Cas looking gravely out at nothing with the blankest of eyes. He reached a slow hand up to the wooden grille of the window to absently pick off some chipping grey paint. “Sam, you must understand that I had every intention of bringing him back—”

“What do you mean?”

“I explained to Dean—”

“Why isn’t he coming back?”

“He doesn’t want to, Sam.”

The very last thing. Was it,  _was_  it the very last thing he expected? It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, what? “ _What_?”

He turned around to face Sam but still couldn’t meet his eye. “I told him I could bring him back and he refused.”

“Why the  _hell_  would he do that?”

Cas pressed his lips together and then shut his eyes, shaking his head as he blurted out, “For you, all for you, who else?”

“You keep saying shit like it makes more sense but it  _doesn’t_ , why would Dean leave me down here?”

“Don’t you see? Admittedly I think your brother’s penchant for selflessness to a fault is at work, and I can’t say that I agree with his decision. But he says…he did a lot of thinking before I reached him. Prolonged exposure to heaven has certain effects on the human soul, and he believes he’s gained a certain sense of clarity. So, the way Dean sees it…There can be no peace for you here on Earth while your brother lives.”

“Why would he think that…I mean, why? Since he came back from purgatory I know we haven’t been seeing eye to eye but that’s just stupid, ridiculous stuff, it’s just  _stuff_ , not like we haven’t argued before—”

“It’s nothing to do with that. He doesn’t care about that. He says he was wrong to shame you for what he then called disloyalty. He sees it differently now, and he understands. It wasn’t him you wanted to leave behind, it was the life of a hunter. You’ve proven that you can escape it. But Dean can’t. As you know, he tried it for a year, but the paranoia, the constant certainty that danger lurked behind every door…that stayed with him every day. He said that if he came back, it didn’t matter if hell was shut up forever, there’d still be monsters out there to kill. And he would have to kill them. If he came back, he could only ever be a hunter. And as long as he is a hunter, you will have an unwavering tie to the life.”

It was more than Sam could stand. As he listened he shuffled disconsolately towards one of the beds and let himself fall into the same dejected position he took when he prayed to Cas.

“You and your brother…you care for one another more than anything in the world.”

The bed across from him was empty.

“Sure, he could let you go take up roots somewhere and swear he’d never let supernatural beings invade your life again, but that kind of a promise is impossible to keep…so he believes.”

It would always be empty.

“A day would come when he was in a severe bind and you would be the only person who could help, or something would find you and threaten your life in order to get revenge upon Dean, or any number of fantastic scenarios Dean fears.”

And it was his fault.

“His entire life he dedicated to protecting you. But now he thinks his job is done.”

Dead because of  _him_.

“A sheltered life isn’t much of a life at all. With Dean gone nothing stands in your way anymore.”

Cas had made his way around the bed and was now standing beside Sam. He regarded the huddled form that was Sam and, as if able to read his mind, he said, “Stop feeling so guilty. This isn’t about fault. This isn’t about blame. Don’t think Dean hasn’t chosen what’s best for himself. Remember, he’s in heaven now.”

Sam let out a short, dissatisfied laugh. “As if  _heaven’s_  been all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Well, no, of course it’s not always been the most hospitable of territories, and it has suffered much of late, but things are going to get better. Dean is happy there. His addictions don’t plague him. He doesn’t need to punish his body with poor nutrition and insufficient sleep. He is truly at peace. And that’s all that he wants for you. But he thinks you can still find peace on Earth.” 

“…How does he expect me to just accept this? I mean, what does he want me to  _do_?”

“You know it already, Sam. You do everything you’ve ever wanted to do that was denied you because of the life you lived. You do what you were  _trying_  to do before he came back from purgatory.”

“It all seemed so simple before, but…he’s really not coming back this time. And we never really…I guess it’s dumb and cliché but…we never said goodbye to each other.”

“Your brother  _loves_  you. And he knows that you love him. So at the end of his life, the two of you quarreled more often than not. That doesn’t matter. Not really. You spent, what? Thirty years together? And in that time you were the most devoted of companions. You infuriated and adored each other fiercely for all those years. So maybe the last one was, all too often, shit,” Cas admitted to the still unconvinced Sam, “that doesn’t cancel out the rest.”

Sam wouldn’t look up and confirm or deny what was said; he stared only ahead at the emptiness. Cas worried he’d stopped listening. Sam forced his eyes shut tightly, as if he hoped to wake up from a dream. He heard mattress springs creak and opened his eyes to see Castiel sit down on the bed before him. The angel folded his hands and let his head hang slightly before he began to speak. 

“You want to know what to do? I’ll tell you. You mourn your brother. You keep him in your heart and never forget his face. Then, you…” Cas shrugged as he spoke, struggling for the right words. “You go back to school. Become a lawyer, become a mechanic, take up any occupation which you find personally fulfilling that doesn’t involve killing. Find a good, kind woman; love her and marry her. Sire many young Winchesters and teach them never to touch a gun. Hey,” he said, suddenly taking Sam’s hands in his and looking straight into his eyes. “ _Live_ , Samuel Winchester. Grow very old and happy. And when it is your time,  _die_. You shall receive your final reward in heaven. You will see Dean again. But first, you must live.”

He slowly released Sam’s hands from his grasp and stood up, as if to leave. Sam felt his eyes sting and a sudden, desperate fear came over him. This was life now. Dean was going to stay dead. Sam was going to stay alive. But what about Cas? He was leaving him too? Did he even want him to stay, anyway? They weren’t close the way they were each individually close with Dean, but the minute Cas was gone would be the minute Sam became officially, and completely, alone.

“What’re you gonna do now?” he asked looking up at Cas with all that pain and loneliness written like permanent marker on his face.

“I’m returning to heaven. Like I said before, it’s something of a mess up there and I mean to fix it. Properly, this time. No civil wars. No stolen souls. No playing God. I mean to work together with my brothers—whoever still remains—and repair the damages done. Samandriel certainly seemed eager to have me back, so—”

“And what about Dean?”

“What about him?”

“Well…he’s up there too. You’ll be there. He’ll be there.”

“…I’ll see him from time to time, I imagine. If he wants me to.”

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“How you feel.”

“…No. I’ve no illusions about our relationship. He sees me as a great friend—as a brother, even—but that’s all. What with the way I am, and…the way he is. He would never have me…telling him would only cause discomfort. And anyway, he’s in heaven. Wouldn’t want to trouble him now.”

Sam nodded, though he didn’t think it right. While Cas could see Dean now anytime he wanted and Sam was forever cut off from his brother, as Sam looked into Cas’ false smile he saw a man as lonely as himself. Still, he nodded. “Yeah, well. You’ll tell him I said…” a world of apologies, forgiveness, love, thanks, and remembrances ran through Sam’s mind in but a second. But what could he really have to say that Dean wouldn’t know? Maybe plenty, but all Sam asked of Cas was, “…tell him I said hi, won’t you? Or maybe goodbye?”

“I think maybe more of an ‘until we meet again’ would be appropriate.”

“Right. Thanks. I guess it’s goodbye for us too, then.”

Cas turned to go, but stopped and looked back at Sam. He looked lost, and Sam felt lost as well. He cleared his throat and said, “Sam…Look, I don’t think it was ever any secret that between the two of you, it was always Dean with whom I was the closest. And of course, now you’re quite aware of my true secret—that of the full extent of my feelings for him. My relationship with you, on the other hand, has been nothing if not…somewhat awkward.” At this Sam smiled crookedly and apologetically, somewhat glad that Cas would admit to strangeness Sam had also felt between the two of them. “But you must understand…it has been a privilege to know you, and I shall forever think of you as my friend. Remember: if you ever need me, for  _any_  reason, you need only send up a prayer and I’ll answer.” He smiled sadly at this. “That being said—if seeing me is…painful in any way, if I remind you too much of your past and of your brother—”

“Cas?”

“I’m saying, if you’d prefer I stayed away, I would understand. I won’t come unless you ask, and it wouldn’t offend me if I don’t hear from you again. It’s entirely up to you. I want for you what Dean wants for you, and what you hopefully want for yourself. I couldn’t allow myself to get in the way of that.”

Sam stood up from the bed and took three short steps to stand in front of Castiel. And for possibly the first time ever, he wrapped his arms around the angel and tightly embraced him. Slightly shocked, Cas slowly returned the sign of affection by in turn placing his arms around Sam’s middle. Sam shut his eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Castiel. Goodbye.”

* * *

 

Dean Winchester sat at the end of a dock on a pond in heaven, fishing pole in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He didn’t need to eat the fish to satisfy any hunger, and the beer wouldn’t really get him drunk, and yet, there he was. Dean didn’t question it for long—there was a certain sense of calm that living in heaven bestowed upon a dead man. Mostly things just  _felt_  right. That was what heaven really did; it wasn’t  _what_  was happening so much as how it  _felt_. Fishing felt lazy but not pointless; beer tasted like a good time but not one that he was dependent on to get by. And while he fished his mind unfolded like an old map, before indecipherable due to a lack of desire or will to consult it, which finally became readable once completely unfurled. His world lay clear and simple before his eyes. Dean wanted to scoff at the idea, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that this time around, dying was the best thing that could have happened to him.

Suddenly, he knew he wasn’t alone. The subtle flap of angel wings sounded off a few feet behind him. He didn’t turn around at Castiel’s appearance, but said only, “How did he take it?”

Cas frowned and took slow steps towards him, replying shortly, “How do you think?”

Dean scowled momentarily, casting his eyes downward. “Kicked up a fuss?”

“You can’t really blame him, Dean. If circumstances were reversed—”

“Yeah, yeah, I  _know_ , Cas, they  _have_  been reversed. But I’ve made my choice, okay, he needs to get that.”

Castiel paused before affirming, “…he does.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, well…good.” A tentative silence fell over them as Dean squinted out over the calm water. He finally cleared his throat and addressed Cas. “So are you just gonna hover there or are you gonna sit your ass down and join me?”

Suddenly a second chair stood next to Dean’s, equipped with a fishing pole and a second bottle of beer. It had always been there, now that Cas thought of it. He assented and sat down, lifting the fishing pole as he did so. He’d never actually fished—not the way humans did it, anyway, with their clever stick-and-string contraptions—but he manage to cast a line quite easily on his first try. Heaven was like that.

He then tended to his beer and, after taking a few sips, Cas broke the silence, saying, “So. What will you do now?”

Dean laughed. “Now? Cas, it’s  _heaven_. Now we kick back and enjoy eternity, right?” He asked, looking at Castiel for the first time.

“…’We’?” Cas asked, returning Dean’s gaze. Dean shrugged in return.

“You heard me.”

“Dean,  _you_  may be at peace, but I’ve serious work to do. The heavens have collapsed in on themselves. There’s nothing to stop all the billions of human souls from… _mingling_  with each other.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“Jean-Paul Satre said ‘Hell is other people’. I guarantee you  _he_  will not be happy about receiving visitors.”

“Yeah, well, forget about him for a minute.  _I_  don’t see the problem with heaven being one giant paradise. Don’t you think people get lonely in their heavens by themselves? For example…you’re not really skipping out on me, are you?” he raised a concerned eyebrow.

“Heaven needs me. My brothers need me.”

“And I don’t?” Dean asked, and as he spoke he saw the answer in the quiet, careless pond; in the cold beer in his hand; in the cabin across the way where he’d taken up residence in the past three days; in the shiny new Impala waiting for him on a road that could take him anywhere in heaven he wanted to go. He could dig eternity alone, or, given that all his friends were dead anyway, he could fire up the Impala and find Jo and Ellen, hit up Ash and visit some famous people’s heavens, maybe even find his parents. Had to be easier now anyway, what with the barriers so broken down. 

“Yeah, maybe I don’t,” he admitted as he emerged from his imaginings to bring the beer bottle to his lips again, “doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

Cas turned his head away from Dean and let a small grin form on his lips. “I may be busy. But if you like, I can always drop in…from time to time.”

“You better,” Dean demanded, his eyes darting first to Cas and then back at the water; after a moment, he added, “dickface.”

Cas struggled momentarily to remember how to proceed in this situation, but quickly recalled the familiar pattern of Dean’s conversations with his brother and simply replied:

“I will…assbutt.”


End file.
